When I was a child, this awful heat Would only show itself after extreme cold. Have you even held snow barehanded? Your hands start burning And your body starts reacting like It was always yearning for it. Thursday felt like my nerves Were barbed wires, the curtesy Of being asked to sit felt like A …
An Altar and Alter
Jalal Al-Din Rumi1207–1273 "This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.I don’t plan it.When I’m outside the saying of it,I get very quiet and rarely speak at all."—Who Says Words with My Mouth1 It’s no business of yours. Don’t assemble now. The words have lost their jugular— a cry, bereft, gurgling the blood …
Fever Dream
The people never give up their liberties but under some delusion.Speech at County Meeting of Bucks, 1784 It doesn't rain here, it pours the sky basks in limitless red assembling each night beyond the sound of deafening birds. Every day, a gulp remains in my throat, that you're not here and I could not take …
Ennui
The other day I saw news of a 14-year-old publishing successful books over a virtual platform and by the looks of the covers that the books portrayed, the fonts, and the design gave me the impression that the books she wrote held considerable position given it was such a highlight. Throughout the world, unlike us, …
Quarantine #3
Saturday, March 21. Listen, the world is not ending anytime soon, while you sit by and watch the rain fall tirelessly into the depths of empty streets, strangely you'll feel at ease. This isolation should be imposed on people regardless of the state the world is in. I feel maybe like me, some might feel …
Quarantine Letter #2
Dear friend, The days are getting longer as the sun learns to bridge the distance between itself and the Earth. The sunlight has its way of becoming warmer and there are no sunflowers in this place. I don’t see you waking up like your usual self if I’m being honest, your hair is dry like …
A welcome song
Wherever it is that you are/The soft song of your exile/Is echoing in this country. Its loudness resounding/as the chiming bells of grass blades/slicing the rain for your voice. And the man toiling on end/ without no one to pay for/he described his pain like this:The moon eclipsing the sun/a scarring black shadow/that erases your …
the knocking is a serenade
At night; your men are armed to teeth/ the timbre of their boots outside my gates/ a proposal past. A river; the rock split into blood and /thorns seducing their way out /miserable gaps of solitude. The dogs; rising to the occasion/ pouring their vile hatred of you/ signalling your imminent arrival. The house; your …
Letter to Myself
Dear Friend, All deaths seem unfortunate, even the one’s that are well needed or that are unwilling to pass on. It may be needed if torment is all you ever felt or were kept from a liberty that you longed for so much, begged for. It is a disguise often told that some things are …
Log 14th July 2019
Kashmir has been uneventful as ever lately. The summer isn’t going to stay long and before it even began, it rained pretty often for the month of June. Every now and then there are subtle showers that intermingle with the sunlight, their presence concealed as they hit the baking hot surface of concrete, or soil. I …